Fairytale Of New York
by CalonLan
Summary: It was Christmas Eve babe, in the drunk tank, an old man said to me: won't see another one, and then he sang a song, "The Rare Old Mountain Dew", I turned my face away and dreamed about you...Robin/Marian past memories, early 1980's
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **right, here we go, just a quick idea to get you lot in the Christmas spirit. I'll admit, the start is kind of boring, but the following chapters will get better, I swear it!

My favourite Christmas song of all time has to be Fairytale of New York with good old Shane MacGowan and Kirsty MacColl. I love it. Sooo, I thought I'd use the idea that Robin gets thrown into jail because he's drunk and he thinks of his past Christmas's with his girl, Marian!

Note: Writing that's been highlighted in bold are lines from the song. Also, next chapters will be the past, his memories of past Christmas's. I've also decided to leave the whole "Robin the saviour" out of this, it's just a pure, fluffy story that contains bittersweet memories.

Enjoy and a Merry Christmas!

Christmas Eve – 1980

Nottingham, England.

_He had blown his fortune on gambling, drugs and drink, and once again, he found himself back in his local drunk tank in Nottingham, The New York, drinking himself into a stupor, just like he had done every Christmas for perhaps the last ten years or so. He was still a young man, only twenty-seven years old, some would say that he still had his whole life ahead of him; others said that he had already wasted it. _

_Robin Locksley was well known in Nottingham, not just for his alcoholism, his excessive gambling addiction and his notorious bar brawls, but for his musical talent. He was a musician. A down-on-his-luck musician who had blown any chance of getting to play in a gig because of his alcohol abuse, he was a drunk and everyone knew it. _

_Sitting at the bar in the New York, Locksley knocked back another double - whiskey and threw the glass down onto the counter, demanding another one while trying to keep his balance on the barstool. _

"_Don't you think that you've had enough?" the balding middle-aged barman asked from behind the bar while picking up the empty whiskey glass and refilling it._

"_Not nearly enough," Robin replied, his words slurring slightly and his eyes rolling into the back of his head._

"_Listen, I don't mean to be rude, but it's Christmas Eve man, surely you have somewhere else to be?" the barman asked quietly but very carefully. He didn't want to push it and sound as if he didn't want the young man there, Locksley was a local, someone who had bought alcohol in his pub for years. He had a lot of respect for the man. He was also pretty apprehensive to get the young Musician out of his pub before the lad became incredibly intoxicated and started a fight, a bar brawl was the last thing the landlord needed, especially on Christmas Eve._

_Robin looked up at him for a moment and then grinned, however, it was forced. "Bill, if I had somewhere else to be, you know I'd be there right now."_

"_I know Robin, I know…it's just, it's Christmas Eve, you shouldn't be spending it here, you should be spending it with your family…or perhaps a lady friend?"_

_Robin snorted loudly into his glass of whiskey before throwing the entire contents into the back of his open mouth and slamming the glass onto the counter of the bar, causing the barman to flinch slightly, worried that he had pushed the young man's temper, the lad was renowned for his temper. "You know I have no family Bill, you know damn right I don't…and as for a lady friend, don't make me laugh. Everyone around here knows I screwed my chances up with her, everyone does, so stop talking a load of shit Bill and give us another drink." He said while grabbing his stiff felt Homburg hat from his head, plucking out a one pound paper note from its inside and slamming it down on the table._

_This time, the landlord stood his ground, "Now Robin, I think you've had enough to drink for one night, maybe you should get yourself home, sober up a little and come back tomorrow for a drink yeah? You come round here tomorrow and I'll give you a couple of Christmas drinks on the house, yeah?"_

"_Thanks Bill, that's real kind of you, I really appreciate it mate," Robin said sarcastically while sliding off the barstool and walking, staggering slightly, over to the dartboard. "But I'm staying here, whether you like it or not. I don't need no Christmas drinks on the house from you, you can stick your drinks, but I'm staying here and there's nothing you can, or are going to do about it," he added somewhat aggressively._

_Bill, slightly taken aback, recovered himself and said with as much bravado as he could muster, "Listen here Robin, I want you out of here right now or there will be consequences..."_

_He laughed hollowly at the barman, straightened himself up and said, "And where am I to go, Bill? You'd rather see me spend Christmas alone out on the streets?"_

"_Come on Robin, of course I don't, its just you don't need to be here drinking yourself to death, you should be at home…"_

"_Home is no home to me; landlord said if I don't get him the rent by the end of next week, I'm out on my arse. Come on, Bill, why would I want to spend Christmas Eve all by myself in a lonely flat when I could be here, in the warmth, in this atmosphere?"_

"_That's not my problem Robin…I'm just thinking of you I am," the landlord said gently, doing his best to shift the young man out of his pub._

_Robin choked on his mouthful of whiskey and said, once wiping his mouth with his sleeve, "Thinking of me? Thinking of me?! Good God, Bill that has to be a new one!"_

"_What?" Bill asked somewhat defensively, his confusion evident, "Of course I care about you lad, of course I do!"_

"_Bill, if you cared about me at all, you wouldn't be throwing me out of your pub."_

"_Robin, it's nothing personal, it's for your own good."_

"_And since when has my well being concerned you, Bill?" Robin asked, his voice rising slightly._

_At this point, the other punters started to realise that something was going on between the landlord and the local, and all began to turn their attentions away from their conversations and became very interested in what was going on before them._

_The barman sighed loudly and said, with as much honesty as he could, "Your father and I were the best of friends, Robin, when he passed away; I knew you needed someone in your life, you and I have always been old friends. You know I'm always here for you,"_

"_Don't make me laugh, Bill, you have never once been here for me, never. I've needed your help for the past ten years and have I ever had any from you? Of course I haven't."_

_The barman looked down at his feet shamefaced and lied, "I've always tried to be here for you, Robin, I have tried."_

_At this point, Robin was on his feet and his voice was raised, "I've needed your help for years, Bill, and I've asked, I really have, but you heard nothing! You ignored whatever I said to you. Five years I've been looking for work, Bill, five years! You know, everywhere I've looked, no one will take me on as a bar singer...nobody will. You're the only one I know who owns a bar, you need a bar singer, but you won't take me on, you know I have talent, Bill, but you never gave me the chance!"_

"_Robin, I…I, I don't know what to say, I really don't."_

"_You never know what to say, that's your God damn problem, Bill!" Robin raged at him, his anger all coming out on the poor barman who seemed to accept what he was saying._

"_Robin…I'm sorry, I just…" the barman tried apologizing but Robin interrupted._

"_You're sorry? Don't make me laugh. You're not sorry. If you were really that sorry, you would have taken me in, Bill, you know that my landlord is desperate for the rent, you know I'm up to my eyeballs in debt with the local lone-sharks, you know I need a job, you're the only one who can give it to me, Bill, and you've never once offered it to me. Some friend eh, Bill? I know why you won't take me on, you're frightened I'll bring shame on you…or screw something up, but friends are meant to have faith in each other, Bill. My old man always had faith in you, and what did he get in return? Nothing. Won't even save his son from being kicked out onto the streets and getting his face broken by local thugs."_

_Most of the pub had now turned to watch Robin Locksley, the dishy Musician who had a way of serenading young women with his lustful lyrics and sweet tunes, shout aggressively at the quiet, timid landlord, who seemed to be taking everything that Robin threw at him._

"_Robin, of course I don't want to see you get your face kicked in, of course I don't…I just knew that if I gave you a job, the money would be used to feed your gambling habit!" Bill said honestly while snapping a bead of sweat from his brow. He was obviously frightened of Robin's temper. _

_The barman had said the wrong thing._

"_MY GAMBLING HABIT?" Robin blasted, the colour in his face turning to a violent shade of puce and his body trembling with fury from head to toe. His hands were clenched into fist, ready to lash out at whoever dared to take him on. _

"_Hey, why don't you calm down? The guy is only being honest." A porky looking punter who was sitting in the corner with a group of other men, who were all huddled around a small poker table, shouted over at him._

_Robin turned on him. "Why don't you just butt out, idiot."_

"_Oi, who are you calling an idiot?" one of the guy's gambling mates shouted over at him._

_Robin pointed to the porky man and spat, "Him!"_

"_Listen, mate, I think you've had more than enough to drink." A tall, intelligent looking man, who had been leaning over the pool table aiming his queue at the white ball to pot the black number eight ball into the left hand corner of the pool table just minutes before, said._

"_I ain't your mate," Robin shouted at him, "And anyway, what do you know?"_

"_A lot more than you, come on Locksley, lets get you home," the man said sensibly while putting down his queue onto the table then grabbing Robin from under the armpit and trying to walk him out of the bar._

"_Back off!" Robin shouted, shoving him hard in the chest. The man stumbled and only just managed to stay on his feet._

"_Oi, mate, I'm just trying to help, no need to get like that!" he once regaining his footing._

"_Well stick your help. None of you have ever been prepared to help me before, why should I need your help now?" Robin spat while throwing off another pair of hands that tried to help him out._

_The porky man that had been absorbed in his gambling just minutes before was now on his feet and he walked towards Robin, ready to grab hold of him and throw him out of the pub._

_Once his hands grabbed hold of Robin's arm, Robin's right fist appeared to flash through the air and collided with the man's jaw. He stumbled backwards, out of sight._

"_OI!" another bloke shouted and ran forward, throwing a stray punch at Robin, which hit him squarely in the eye. He staggered backwards, blinded momentarily. He shook his head in an attempt to clear his vision, but all he saw was stars. Once having regained his eye-sight Robin charged forward at the man and tackled him onto the pool table. They both rolled around like a pair of wrestlers brawling in mud, both trying to get on top of the other to deliver a safe punch into each other's ribs or face. _

_Having proven to be the strongest, Robin managed to roll out from underneath the man and climb on top of him and throw a few harsh punches into the blokes face. Satisfied that he had given the man a few good clouts, he backed off a little, only to feel a few pair of strong hands grab hold of him and drag him from the pool table and throw him, which he presumed, over the bar. He rolled over the counter, smashing many glasses on his way and landed very heavily on his left side. Groaning, he tried to heave himself off the floor and brush the broken glass from his side. Immediately he felt another set of strong hands grab him by his trouser braces and hoist him up onto his feet, he was pulled over the bar counter and slugged a few times in the face and ribs. _

_One drunk man, a few harsh words, a good hard shove in the chest and a stray punch, it didn't take a genius to work out what its result would be. The New York was renowned for its bar brawls, underage drinking and gambling. Tonight, just like most other nights, there was another bar brawl and it wouldn't be long until the pigs were crawling all over the place._

_After a few chairs had been smashed over some unfortunate souls head, at least a dozen glasses had been thrown at people and several unconscious bodies lay sprawled on the floor, the cops finally decided to raid the bar and arrest every man that looked brutal enough to be part of a bar brawl. The first of these men to be arrested was the musician, Robin Locksley, who was grabbed by the shoulders by a set of strong hands, his hands were roughly handcuffed behind his back and then, having been hit across the back of his legs with a truncheon, got dragged by the scruff of his shirt out of the pub and thrown into the back of the panda car. _

_Bloodied and bruised, Robin managed to catch a quick glimpse of Bill, who was standing by the front entrance to his pub looking angrily into the back of the police car at the culprit who had started the fight and had turned his pub into a destroyed battlefield on Christmas Eve. _

_Robin heard the key turn in the ignition of the old police Ford Anglia and felt the engine grumble slightly as the motor roared into life, and just as quickly as they had come, they left the snowy street of Knighton and set off down the main road that was becoming an inch thicker by the falling snow each minute, to deliver their criminal safely to Nottingham nick that happened to be in the very heart of town centre._

_Sitting back in the car, Robin rested his head gently on the leather seating in an attempt to sooth his head from the painful throbbing that was causing his vision to blur. His right eye was half closed, the bruising having fully come out now, and his lip bled lightly, the blood dripping slowly onto his white shirt, which was now no longer white, but heavily stained with blood, dust, sweat and ale._

_He sat back in the car and for the first time that night, he was actually able to think straight. Either the effect that the double – whiskeys had had on him had now worn off, or the fact that after the nights events, he had somehow come back to his senses, it remained a mystery to him how quickly he had sobered up and realised what he had gone and landed himself in. Sighing loudly, he came to terms with the fact that he had gone and booked himself a very uncomfortable night in a dingy cell in Nottingham police station. Great. _

_Several minutes later, or it could have been hours, he wasn't sure, but the one thing that he was sure about was that he was being rudely shaken awake by a tall man, at least six foot tall, in police uniform, and before he knew it, he was being dragged from the uncomfortable leather seating of the panda car, out onto the snowy street, and into the old police station. _

_The next thing he knew, he was being thrown head first into a dingy looking cell that was already occupied by three other men. Robin heard the door slam behind him as he landed heavily on his front and, once having mustered up as much strength as he could, heaved himself up off his front and rolled over onto his back. He lay there for a few minutes just holding his head tightly in his hands, hoping, perhaps even praying that the thumping headache that was pounding inside his head would just for one second, maybe go away. He opened his eyes, his right eye throbbed softly, he groaned. _

_Dragging himself up from the cold, damp, stone flooring, he managed to clamber to his feet and actually keep his balance for more than five seconds as he made his way over to the wooden bench that was placed right at the very end of the cell, right underneath the barred window. _

_Slumping down onto the wooden bench, he snapped off the braces on his trousers and kicked off his beetle boots in an attempt to get comfortable. He was going to be there for a long time, he knew it, and he might as well make himself at home and get as comfortable as he possibly could because he knew from past experiences just how uncomfortable spending a night in a prison cell could be when you were sleeping off a binge._

"_Aye, good idea that, get yourself comfy for the night mate…" said a thick accented young man from the dark corner of the cell, he was sitting on the floor with his legs spread out in front of him, his back up against the wall, his head lolling from side to side. The man was pissed._

_Robin took in the sight of him in one sweeping glance. He was perhaps around average height, normal weight, his brown trousers were patched, his shirt sleeves were rolled up to above his elbows, his brown waistcoat was unbuttoned, his brown – sandy coloured hair was slightly tousled and he had a small growth of facial hair. He looked dishonest and, if Robin was completely honest and perhaps slightly hypocritical, he looked totally wasted._

_He decided to ignore him, and instead, he turned his face away from him and pressed his cheek against the cool, stone wall. He found it slightly soothing, the coldness of the stones slowly soothing his sore head. It sent him into a long, peaceful thought, which was rudely interrupted by the drunken young man again._

"_My name's Alan," he said cheerfully, hiccoughing just as he managed to get his name out. "And this is young Will Scarlett," he informed Robin while pointing towards a lifeless yet very tall and slim form that seemed to be unconscious on the floor. _

_Robin watched the man with disinterest as he introduced himself and his unconscious pal to him. He wasn't in the slightest interested and instead of striking up a conversation with the lad, he adjusted his Homburg hat to cover his eyes._

"_And that over there…the big fella', that's John Little, but I'm calling him Little John. So tell me, how come you been thrown in here?" Robin continued to ignore him and pretended to fall asleep. "Say, fella, you don't talk much do you?"_

_Annoyed, Robin opened his eyes and turned to face the young man, "Leave me alone will you?"_

_The man called Alan chuckled softly and said, while scratching his chin as in deep in thought, "I'm guessin' you don't wanna' be 'ere right?"_

_Robin looked at him in disbelief and, once having noticed that the guy was completely serious, turned to him and said sarcastically, "You know, you really should try and make something of that brain of yours, you're very intelligent."_

_Alan shrugged off the sarcastic remark and continued, "So, you gonna' tell me how come you're in 'ere for the night or am I gonna' have to guess?"_

"_Why don't you try guessing, you seem good at that." Was Robin's only reply._

_The young man eyed him thoughtfully, and after a few moments of staring at Robin's bruised eye, busted knuckles and the blood and ale stains on his shirt, he finally came to a conclusion. "Judgin' by the blood stains and busted knuckles, I'd say that you had been fightin' mate,"_

_Robin clapped his hands heartily and replied, "Not just a pretty face eh?"_

_At this remark, Alan seemed confused and instead of questioning Robin about what he was talking about, he decided to push on with the conversation and instead asked him to go into detail about his scraping. _

"_Sooo, been thrown in here for scraping…excellent. Who was the fella you nailed?"_

_Robin rolled his eyes, there was no way he would get to sleep if this kid kept yapping, so instead, he turned to face him and decided to answer a few of his questions. "There was more than one "fella" and I didn't nail anyone, it was a bar brawl. The pigs broke it up before anything got out of hand."_

"_Aaah right, I see…cool. So you were the unfortunate one that got canned I suppose?"_

"_Aye, you could say that." Robin replied. "So, what's the reason to why you are in here?"_

_Alan sighed loudly before picking up his legs and hugging them closely to his chest. "Stealin' mate. Pinched a few bits and bobs from a shop, few pigs on duty, threw me straight into here they did, just my luck init, especially on Christmas Eve."_

"_What did you steal for in the first place? Surely you knew if you got caught, there would be consequences?" _

"_Forgot didn't I? Times are hard, mate, and my wife, she's havin' a baby, she must eat or she'll lose the baby."_

_Watching him intently, Robin snorted loudly. Was this guy for real? Did he really think that Robin believed these bare-faced lies? "I think you should quit while you're ahead Alan, no point in lying to me, I can tell when someone's lying to me."_

_Instead of looking shamefaced or even guilty that he had been caught lying, he simply laughed like a young schoolboy and then asked, "so, you gonna' tell me your name or is it a mystery?" _

"_My names Robin, Robin Locksley."_

"_Alan, Alan a Dale, nice to meet you," he said with a toothy grin._

"_And what did you say his name was again?" Robin asked, pointing to the young man lying on the floor, sleeping._

"_That's Will Scarlett, my best mate he is."_

"_And why's he in here?"_

"_Got caught with me didn't he? Was his idea in the first place to go nicking things from shops."_

_Robin took in the innocent looking, boyish face of the young Will Scarlett and said with a chuckle to Alan, "Somehow I find that hard to believe."_

_Alan ignored this comment and pushed on with his questions, "What you do for a livin' mate?"_

_Before he could stop himself, the words, "I'm a musician," blurted out of his mouth and, once having said them, he added bitterly, "Well, a musician that barely gets any gigs or work,"_

"_Shit life?" Alan asked him interestedly, "Join the gang. I'm a blacksmith, did an apprenticeship with my old man when I was a young lad, thought it would set me up for life, obviously not. Not many people need a blacksmith around here nowadays."_

_Robin wasn't interested in what the other man said and decided to rest his head against the stone wall once again. He could feel the headache coming back, and if he was right, it was going to come back with a vengeance. He closed his eyes and let the coldness of the wall sooth him into another peaceful train of thoughts until…_

"_Did you say you were a musician?" came Alan's voice again._

_Robin's eyes snapped open, "Yes," he answered irritably while settling into the comfort of his personal thoughts once again._

"_I could have been a musician you know…aye, would have made a good musician me." Alan said more to himself than to anyone else._

"_Goodnight Alan," Robin said, obviously annoyed and closed his eyes again._

"_Goodnight Robin and a Merry Christmas to you mate,"_

"_Aye, a very Merry Christmas to you too," he grumbled under his breath while shifting into a comfier position on the wooden bench._

"_You know, my last Christmas this mate…__**won't see another one**__."_

_Frustrated and annoyed that this young man wouldn't leave him alone, Robin tried his best to think happy thoughts before he ended up pouncing on the man and wrapping his hands around his throat and making sure that he didn't leave go until he was certain that the man couldn't talk again, or even breathe for that matter._

_Just as everything had fallen quiet and peaceful, Robin's first thoughts were that maybe annoying old Alan had finally got bored of the sound of his own voice and had fallen asleep, but then, as if to prove that nothing got rid of him so quickly, Alan burst out into song which happened to be the favourite Irish drinking Ballad, "__**The Rare Old Mountain Due**__". _

"_And we'll give you the slip as we take a sip of the rare old mountain due!" seemed to be the only part of the lyrics that he did actually know and after repeating that line about five times, Robin, who was trying hard to control his temper, __**turned his face away**__ and __**dreamed about her.**_

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**A/N: I decided to give Robin the role of MacGowan and Marian the role of MacColl, although we haven't seen Marian yet!**

**Yes, Robin's a drunk, a druggie and a gambler, but I think it would be kind of cute that he went off the rails after his woman left him. Lets see hmmm…**

**Btw, I'm hoping that I can finish this short story for Christmas, seeing as it's a Christmas story.**

**I'm putting ALL stories on hold just for this and because I have a busy time ahead. I'm afraid I don't get round to writing much fan fiction anymore. What with all the coursework I get, I've started my new job five weeks ago and I've been doing my mocks, it doesn't leave much time for writing, and although I've finished school today, I don't have much of a Christmas Holidays to write because I happen to be going on a skiing holiday on Boxing Day. **

**Another thing, this time last year was about the same time as I joined fan fiction and I remember writing a Harry Potter fic about Sirius Black which was somewhat Christmassy. Anyway, hope you enjoy this and leave plenty of reviews. Let me know what you all think!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey, this story didn't have much of a response, two reviews…c'mon, it's Christmas, make my Christmas and leave me some reviews!**

**I'd just like to say a big thanks to Magpie287 and Madam Beret who both left nice reviews, thank you!**

**Merry Christmas everyone.**

Christmas – 1979

Nottingham, England.

Huddled into the warmth of his trench coat, Robin Locksley lifted the flaps of his collar up around his cheeks and adjusted his homburg hat so that it covered his eyes, protecting his face from the harsh cold weather. His hands were stowed deep into the coat pockets in an attempt to keep them warm from the night chill that was trying to attack every part of bare skin that was available.

Strolling down the quiet, snowy street of Knighton late at night, Robin kicked at the empty beer bottle on the edge of the road and continued to walk down the empty slum while whistling the tune to _the Last Noel_, his beetle boots creating loud clip-clopping noises each time they hit the cold tar pavement.

Robin Locksley didn't own a car, nor did he have the money to afford a cab. Instead, he walked. He walked everywhere. Tonight, however, he had the money, but for once in his life, he decided to save that money, the golden winnings of a poker game, and decided not to hire a cab with his winnings, but to buy himself a large scotch in his local, The New York, where he could guarantee that the music and atmosphere would be good.

Continuing down the street, he noticed that the neon sign to _Jack's_, the local bookmaker, was flashing and that the betting office was still open for the night. Robin smirked, _Jack's _little betting office was in between the local Post Office and the Labour Exchange and the local public house, _The New York,_ was only across the road. Old Jack had always been a clever one when it came down to business. He knew that by being next door to a Post Office, old men were more likely to be tempted to call by and try to double, or perhaps even treble, their weekly pension after collecting it from next door. Then there was the Labour Exchange, the ready cash from there would be _the dole_ and young men were very ready to gamble that in the hopes of taking home a far better sum than a measly few pounds. Jack had a good eye for businesses and had the mind, knowledge and skill of a perfect business man.

Stopping outside the betting office, he thought for a moment, he had lost hundreds, maybe even thousands of pounds over the years in _Jack's_, but tonight he had been lucky once, who was to say that he wouldn't get lucky again?

Tempted by the colourful _open_ sign and the thought of winning double his money, Robin made his way towards the shop, pushing open the heavy door and stepping into the warmth of the bookies.

The room was alive with the sound of bawdy chatter and bad language, men barking with laughter and shouting in frustration at the television screens when their horses didn't come close to winning. The little betting office was packed with people, all men, probably hoping to win a good jackpot in an attempt to make Christmas a better one, and nicotine hung in thick clouds of smoke in the air, circling around the room in a toxic sort of way.

Walking into the betting office, Robin doffed his hat to a couple of men he recognized from around the area and fought his way over to the counter. The place was already full and heaving with men from the age of twenty to eighty. It was the grade three Welsh National horse race and, it seemed, half of the men in Nottingham and all surrounding areas had turned up on this cold December evening just to place a few bets on the National Hunt horses.

Digging his hand deep into the thick pockets of the trench coat, he managed to pull out a large wad of money, the winnings of the poker game. Slapping them down onto the counter, he turned to the odds table and calculated quickly inside his head how much he needed to put on the horse, _Peter Scot_, to guarantee a good jackpot of money.

"Hey Jack, do you know who _Peter Scot's_ jockey is?" he asked the bookmaker, Jack, who was standing behind the little counter with his arms folded across his chest and concentrating intently on the screen above him, watching the race.

He tore his eyes away from the screen for a split second and looked at Robin, "Aye, Paul Barton,"

"And the trainer?" Robin asked.

"Err, David Gandolfo I think." Was his only reply while he continued to stare at the television screen.

Robin turned back to the odds table and scanned the list of names of the horses that were running in the next race.

The next thing he knew, the room came alive again with the sound of cheering, whooping, laughing and shouts of frustration. The race that old Jack had been watching intently had come to an end and the winners raced to the counter to claim their winnings while the losers hung their heads, clearly disappointed.

Jack shook his head and grumbled irritably under his breath, the bookmaker was obviously not happy that he now had to dig his hand into the till and hand out massive sums of money.

Having handed out the last of the winnings, he turned to Robin and growled, "Are you gonna' put a bet on the damn horse or are you just gonna' ask questions about the freaking thing?"

"Alright, keep your bra on Jack; I just want to know the details." Robin said quietly while handing over the money.

"Thanks God for that. I don't do time wasters, Robin." He told the lad while placing the paper notes into the till.

"Good, 'coz neither do I, Jack."

"So, eighteen to one on _Peter Scot_?" he let out a bark of laughter, his chest wheezing loudly, "Good luck to you on that one, you haven't got a hope in hell."

"It says here that he's proven himself in many other races…"

"Race starts in five, kid." Was Jack's only reply as he handed Robin the betting slip and pointed to the screen. "Good luck…"

"I shall need it." Robin muttered as he walked over to the other side of the room towards the large screen where a few punters had already gathered around.

Shrugging off his trench coat, Robin threw it over the back of a chair and rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt. He quickly opened the top buttons, leaving his collar hang open and he loosened his tie. Pulling up a chair, he quickly turned it around and sat on it backwards, his arms draped around the back of the chair. He plucked his hat from his head and searched around inside the base and pulled out a cigarette. Striking a match and lighting the cigarette quickly, he sat there dragging at it while waiting patiently for the race to begin.

The race finally began and Robin stood there in front of the screen grasping his betting slip tightly in his clenched hand while he yelled at _Peter Scot_ to get his arse into gear and finish the distance of three miles, five and a half furlongs and come first place in the race.

Shouting at the screen in frustration as _Peter Scot_ jumped the tenth fence and just managed to stay on his feet, Robin sat down on the chair with his head in his hands. He should have known, the odds of _Scot_ winning were very slim and Jack was right. Damn it he should have listened to Jack! Old Jack had been in the business for years, he knew what he was talking about.

Tearing his eyes away from his hands, he managed to bring himself round to watch the race and was surprised to see that, although many of the horses had fallen at the sixteenth fence, the chestnut gelding that he had put high stakes on was still on his feet and was storming down the course. The stamina of the eight year old thoroughbred was incredible and Robin found that he had hope in this horse once again.

Getting to his feet, he started to cheer the horse on as he cleared the seventeenth, eighteenth and nineteenth fence and ran on onto the twentieth. The horse was now tied with _Narvik_ and _Peaty Sandy_, both young geldings, much younger than _Scot_, but if Barton, the jockey managed to maintain a cool head now and managed to show good horsemanship skills, _Scot_ could win this, _Scot_ was more experienced than those damn two other geldings,_ Scot_ would win this if he just managed to clear fence twenty-one (which he did of course) and somehow managed to clear fence twenty-two nicely.

Just as _Scot_, who was now tied with _Narvik_, _Peaty Sandy_ having fallen at the last fence, charged down the course with Barton crouched low over his back, Robin closed his eyes in fear that if he watched, _Scot _would fall at the very last hurdle and leave the victory to be taken by the young gelding _Narvik_. He hid his eyes behind his hand and, just as _Scot_ neared the last fence, fence number twenty-two, he quickly looked through the crack of his fingers and held his breath as the horse jumped the fence, cleared it and landed safely on his feet. Jumping up onto his feet, Robin shouted at the screen, hoping that somehow the horse and Barton could hear him, and watched with concentrated attention as _Scot _managed to outrun _Narvik_ and return home in first place.

Robin jumped around the betting office in jubilation while punching the air and whooping loudly in delight. Had he really just won? Had he really **got on a lucky one** and his horse just **came in eighteen to one**? He couldn't believe it. Luck had never been on Robin Locksley's side, never. But tonight, tonight was his lucky night and as far as he was concerned, he was the happiest man on the planet right now.

Running to the counter, he slapped down the betting slip and looked up at an irritated looking Jack. "I guess you was wrong eh, Jack? _Scot _did have a hope in hell didn't he?" there was a cheeky glint in Robin's eyes, the youth of the young man evident in the boyish face. A cheeky, cocky grin played on his face and he let out a crack of delighted laughter upon seeing the annoyance of the bookie.

"Give me that!" Jack growled as he snatched the betting slip out of Robin's hand and dug his hand into the till.

"Say, Jack, looks as if you've had a pretty shit night?" Robin said grinningly to him, the devious smile still playing on his handsome features.

"You're telling me, kid. Christ, I need a scotch." He moaned as he counted the paper notes in his hand before handing them to a grinning Robin. "Now get the hell outta' here before I decide not to give you your damn winnings ya' lucky bugger."

"Thanks, Jack, Merry Christmas!" the youngster said cheerfully as he threw on his thick coat.

"Aye, a Merry Christmas to you too, lad, you have a good one, and go easy on the drink!" Jack said back to the regular punter.

"Will do," Robin said while grasping his homburg by the crown and doffing it to Jack before leaving the warmth of the betting office and stepping out into the chilly evening.

Walking out of the shop with a stride in his step, Robin stopped in his tracks on the pavement and, while taking a long drag from his cigarette which was hanging from his lip, he focused on the front doors of the _New York_, where people seemed to be filling in. Just as the door swung open, a loud powerful wave of melodic singing reached his ears, it was a female's voice and, intrigued by the powerful song, he threw his cigarette onto the floor and crossed the road, making his way towards the _New York_.

The atmosphere in the pub was alive with the sound of music and, if he was to be completely honest, much better than what the atmosphere was in _Jack's_. Striding over towards the bar, Robin doffed his hat to a pretty looking lady and instead of placing his homburg back onto his fair-haired head; he swiped out a paper note and placed it on the bar while saying to the young lady, "What can I get you to drink?"

Batting her eye lashes at him, she smiled seductively and said, "I'll have a glass of wine,"

"Of course," Robin said grinning handing over the money to Bill, "And I'll have a whiskey please, Bill,"

"Coming right up," Bill said while handing Robin the glass of wine.

Robin passed it on to the young lady with a wink and, once she stalked off in the opposite direction, turned his attention to the singer who was on the stage singing.

"Say, Bill, who's that lass up on stage?" Robin asked him while taking a sip from his whiskey glass.

"Tonight's entertainment. Her name is Marian Fitzwalter. Cost me a fortune she did, but she's worth it eh, Rob?" Bill grinned from behind the bar while watching her.

"Aye, she's got a cracking voice…" Robin agreed while greedily drinking in her fair complexion, her silky brunette locks, her large, crystal blue eyes and her curvy figure, "…and an even better figure,"

"Pretty little thing ain't she?"

"Aye…she is. She's mighty fine. Where did you say she was from?"

"I didn't, but she's from 'round here." Bill replied, still focused on the brunette up on his stage.

Robin let out a low wolf whistle, "From around here? I've never seen her around…"

"Hey, you're a musician; don't tell me you've never met her?"

Robin shook his head, "I haven't, I don't even know the name…but that won't be for long," he said with a devilish wink at Bill.

Bill chuckled, "Fancy your chances eh?"

"Naturally," Robin grinned cheekily.

"She's a feisty one mind you…already we've had three punters trying to get a piece of her; she was having none of it. The first left with a black eye, the second complaining that his crotch was hurting and the third, well he walked out with a pint of stout dripping from his head. When we call her "tonight's entertainment" it doesn't mean what half of these dirty minded buggers in here are thinking…oh no, it means "entertainment" and no funny business."

Laughing, Robin downed his drink.

"Still fancy your chances?" Bill asked him, smirking.

"Of course, I like a challenge and this one looks right up my street."

Shaking his head in disapproval, Bill said to him, "You're a fool. Many have tried and failed, what makes you any different?"

His answer was obvious. "I'm a musician, and if I've read this lass right, she's a sucker for music, she loves it. Music is her life, her drug and her religion…the key to seducing her is obvious, Bill, and I'm the only man who can do it."

Bill laughed at him and then said while picking up Robin's empty whiskey glass and refilling it, "Good luck to you, Robin. Good luck to you, my old son."

"Luck has been on my side twice tonight, Bill, but for this, I don't need luck, this is too easy."

"We'll see, Robin," Bill said winking at him, "Here, have this…courage for you. You'll need it; I've heard that she's got a mean punch."

Grinning, Robin threw the contents of the whiskey into the back of his mouth and shook his head. "You've heard the saying, I came, I saw, I conquered right?"

"Right," Bill replied, confused.

"Well, you just think of that once I've left your pub with her on my arm."

"You're a sly old dog, Robin; I'll give it to you."

"Of course I am, Bill, of course I am," and with that, Robin was striding towards the stage where the young lady, Marian, had just finished her song and was preparing for the next one.

Climbing onto the stage, Robin hurried over to her and, while placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, he doffed his homburg with his other and said, "Hey there babe."

She looked at him suspiciously and said, "Hey…err, not being rude, but you really shouldn't be up here on stage. If you want to talk, I finish at ten, we can talk then?"

Robin grinned, she looked far more beautiful up closer and he found that he was almost blushing being in such a close proximity with such a beautiful woman. Making sure that he had found his voice and that he could actually string two words together, he said, "No, no, no, I haven't come to talk, I've err, come to sing with you. Say, you fancy doing a duet?"

Her eyes narrowed and she looked at him in confusion. "A duet?"

He nodded eagerly.

"Err, are you a singer or -…" she was quickly interrupted.

"Aye, I'm a musician…I was thinking maybe we could do a little duet or something, you know?"

She took in the young man's appearance; he was around twenty-five, a good five years older than her. He was very handsome, but in a roguish way. His hair was slightly tousled, a perfected mess she thought, and his eyes twinkled with devilment, they were blue, aquamarine she noted to herself. His features were boyish, innocent yet very cheeky, and he had a three-day old stubble growing, which she found slightly dashing. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to above his elbows and his tie hung loosely around his neck, his black trousers were being held up by braces and his black beetle boots shined with care. Looking him up and down, she noticed that he had a somewhat cocky stance, something which irritated her upon disbelief but at the same time making her stomach flutter. He was, in his own unique way, very sexy.

"A duet...I don't know, what did you have in mind?" she asked him, not sure whether or not that this man was up to the job.

"Look, I'm a musician…I sing here for Bill all the time, I'm a mate of his, come on, lets give these guys a show, what do you say?" he said, flashing her a cheeky smile, which only made her knees tremble and turn to jelly. The one thing that perhaps kept her on her feet and from collapsing into an unladylike mush on the floor at his feet was the cheek of the man. Was he trying to imply that her singing wasn't good enough? That she wasn't entertaining the punters? That she needed a male voice to make her melodic tune sound better? No. She had never needed a man before, in her bed or on the stage and she was sure as hell that she wasn't going to start needing one now.

"I'm sorry, but it wasn't in the job description that I would somehow "need" a male to duet with me."

Robin frowned. "No, no, no…I'm not here to steal your limelight, love; I'm here to offer you a duet. I mean, you have a beautiful voice, I just thought maybe you'd like to duet, I would really like to sing with you," he said, flashing his signature smile once again.

She shook her head, she knew what he was doing, hell he knew what he was doing! A flash of the smile and he'd get his own way, that was his plans, but no, she was not that vulnerable and easy when it came to men, so she stood her ground.

"Listen here, I'm not doing a duet with you so why don't you just get off the stage and leave me get on with what I'm here to do!?"

At this point, the punters had started to get impatient that their singing sensation had come to a standstill and was no longer entertaining them, a few even shouted at Robin to get off the stage.

"C'mon, darling, c'mon, you and me, what do you say? C'mon, Robin Locksley and Marian Fitzwalter, has a certain ring to it doesn't it? C'mon baby, let's give these a night to remember."

She stared at him in disbelief. "You're not Robin Locksley."

He stared back at her and laughed, "Yes I am,"

"You're not,"

"I bloody well am!" he said back.

"Well how come you're not in Texas or Vegas, or even New York at this moment making a name for yourself! The last I heard of you, you was some hotshot around Northern England!"

"That was years ago, I'm not as big as I used to be, and as for going to New York, I chose to stay here, this is _New York_, baby." He grinned at her.

Looking at him stupid, she said to him, "You're not Robin Locksley, you can't be."

"Why can't I be Robin Locksley?"

"Because you can't be. _The_ Robin Locksley, Robin Locksley who started busking on the streets at the age of fourteen, who was in a band at sixteen, who made it big in the English bars when he was only nineteen?" she said sceptically.

He was starting to get annoyed with the whole "you're not Robin Locksley" thing and he said impatiently, "Look, there is no "the", I'm a has been, but there we go, are you going to sing with me or do I have to grab a microphone and a guitar and force you to sing with me?"

She had found the whole modesty kind of thing cute, but then he went and said that and she instantly took a dislike to him. Although he was a has been, he still thought that he was God's freaking gift and that everybody wanted a piece of the Locksley.

"You're not singing with me, darling, get off the stage."

"Very well," he said walking away from her. "Have it your way" and with that, he snatched the guitar from the guitarist and walked over to the drummer. After a few quick words, he walked over to where the microphone stood and whispered to her, "Right, c'mon, you know this song, it's one of my favourites, Johnny Cash and June Carter, It Ain't Me Babe, and stop looking like that, you look like a slapped arse. C'mon, count me in." he said quickly while getting ready to play the guitar.

Turning to face him, he noticed the fury in her eyes and chuckled, this madam obviously didn't like the idea of being told what to do, especially by a man.

"Chill out, darling, c'mon, you and me are going to have a cracking time," he winked at her.

Just as he was about to turn back to face the audience, he just managed to catch the sight of her right hand flying through the air and, thanking his quick reflexes, immediately he grabbed hold of it, her hand scrabbled at his face and he jerked his head away from her. She had tried to slap him. He heard the audience gasp at the impropriety and he turned to face them, grinning. "No need to panic, its show business," and with that, he turned to Marian and muttered out of the side of his mouth, "Grab the God damn microphone before I shove it where the sun don't shine."

Shocked at his remark, she reluctantly did what she was told. The sooner she got this freaking duet with him over, the sooner he would get out of her hair.

"Right ladies and gentlemen, forgive this intrusion, but Miss Marian Fitzwalter and I, Robin Locksley are going to give you a performance to remember, are we all ready?" he shouted down the microphone while strumming the song on the guitar.

Immediately the crowd of punters began to cheer at the thought of Robin, their favourite musician, singing with this beautiful young woman. The audience along with the reluctant Marian began to clap their hands to the beat while Robin brought his mouth closer to the microphone and sung,

"_Go away from my window, leave at your own chosen speed, I'm not the one you want, babe, I'm not the one you need."_ _You can say that again_, she thought angrily asshe turned to face him and, extremely annoyed at his cheekiness, she frowned at him for winking at her.

She hated him for this. She had heard a lot about Robin Locksley over the years, her father said that he knew him quite well and that he was from a wealthy, virtuous family. But, if truth be told, her first impressions of him weren't exactly the best. It was time that she joined in with the lyrics, _"You say you're lookin' for someone who's never weak but always strong, to protect you and to defend you whether you are right or wrong. Someone to open each and every door. But it ain't me, babe, no, no, no it ain't me, babe. It ain't me you're lookin' for, babe."_

As soon as she finished belting out the lyrics, she walked away from him as he showed off on the stage by twirling that sexy arse of his. She had to admit, he was a pretty good musician, he looked as if he enjoyed what he was doing, he held the audience in his palm, they loved him. He sure was hot stuff, but then his cheeky, arrogant grin slid into her mind and all admiration of him quickly vanished. Instead, she walked back up to the microphone, ready to sing the next lot of lines.

"_Go lightly from the ledge, babe, go lightly on the ground, I'm not the one you want, babe, I'll only let you down. You say you're lookin' for someone who'll promise never to part, someone to close his eyes to you, someone to close his heart, someone to die for you and more, but it ain't me, babe, no, no, no, it ain't me, babe, it ain't me you're lookin' for, babe. You say you're lookin' for someone to pick you up each time you fall, to gather flowers constantly and to come each time you call and will love you for your life and nothin' more, but it ain't me, babe, no, no, no, it ain't me, babe, it ain't me you're lookin' for, babeeee." _

He bowed deeply to the audience who were on their feet cheering, whistling and clapping. Turning to Marian, he grabbed hold of her hand and kissed it. He had to admit, although he could tell that she wasn't the best pleased that he had forced her to sing with him, she had sure as hell enjoyed it coming to the end. Impressed with her talent, Robin smiled at her and said, once the cheering finally died down, "You were amazing, thank you for singing with me,"

Secretly flattered that Locksley had told her this, she pretended to force a smile and said back, "You weren't too bad yourself hotshot."

Turning his head cockily, he grinned and said, "Fancy a drink?"

"Yeah, why not?" she smiled back while following him towards the bar.

Maybe she'd learn to like the cocky musician…she wasn't sure, but what she was sure about, was that she liked his rogue boy looks…

……………………………………………………………..

**A/N: They've finally met woop woop! **

**Anyway, first of all…the betting business, I know that the Welsh National takes place in late December, but not exactly when, I know Peter Scot won in 1979 and I know Narvik and Peaty Sandy won following years, so just for the sake of the story, they were runners up in the race.**

**Now, the song Robin and Marian sung It Ain't Me Babe was chosen for no reason at all, it's just I love that song sooo I thought it would be nice.**

**Anyway, the next chapter will be all about them two…then I'm afraid I won't be probably posting until after new year, soo sorry guys! Well sorry to those who **_**actually**_** like the story. **

Please read and review, merry Christmas!


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